The Pythian Blade
by silverthorned
Summary: A weapon in the wrong hands proves catalyst to change.


Title: The Pythian Blade  
Author: silverthorned  
Rating: PG  
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon, creator.  
Category: Buffy/Spike romance  
Summary: A weapon in the wrong hands proves catalyst to change.  
Note: Occurs after "Once More with Feeling" and goes AU. All   
original characters are my own.  
  
*  
  
Prologue  
  
It was born in fire and in ice, forged from heat and frost, once  
blessed, once cursed. The priest spoke words of forgiveness over  
it; the mage spoke words of death into it. It was a weapon of  
chilling beauty and formidable strength. It was made to spill   
blood. It was made to restore life.  
  
There are those who say that when it was forged, the metalsmith's   
hands bled. The drops fell on the rough blade, and it rang with  
the resonance of fine crystal.   
  
There are also those who say that if one looks into the opal in  
the hilt and its swirling rainbow colors clarify, that person  
will see death's plans for him.   
  
It was a prized weapon, not only for its powers, but its beauty.  
A legend grew about it, how a man named Arthur claimed it for  
himself and called it Excalibur.  
  
It was called many names, but its true name and purpose was never   
discovered, even by its caretakers. It earned the moniker of the   
Pythian blade, and so it remained, and was lost, waiting for its  
purpose to be fulfilled.  
  
*  
  
Part One--Dreamers  
  
The candles had long since burnt down to puddles of wax, trailing  
drops frozen on the rough stone, barely visible in the darkness.  
A sound whispered, mumbling coming through cold lips, prompted by  
unconscious visions.  
  
---He walked down a corridor, past wooden slatted boxes, stuffed  
with shredded papers. They were strewn across the floor, and  
crackled under his feet. He touched the plaster covered wall,  
dragging his fingers across the pebbled surface.  
  
The corridor ended in a room with more boxes, some small, some  
much larger than a man. He continued past them, heading toward a  
corner. Though the room was not lit, his senses told him what to  
avoid, and he successfully navigated past all the objects in his  
path.  
  
There was an office in the back. He opened the door. The blinds  
covering its window swung back against the glass, the rat-a-tat  
sound startling him, muscles in his shoulders spasming  
involuntarily.  
  
On a desk, a single green-shaded lamp cast a puddle of light on  
the blotter, and the object lying on it. The light sparkled off  
the metal of a short sword, sharp, smooth, polished to high   
shine. The hilt was intricate metalwork, a black opal set there.  
  
This was what he'd come to find and the call that brought him  
here moved him forward to grasp it. The metal was warm to his  
skin, and he almost dropped it at the unexpected feeling.  
Instead, he furrowed his brow and brought the sword closer to   
examine the opal.  
  
The depths of it shimmered with rainbow shades, alive in the glow  
of light, and as he watched, his blue eyes wide with wonder, he  
felt them envelop him, until all that filled his vision were the  
colors, the colors that vibrantly hummed, in tune with something  
greater, something so beyond his understanding....  
  
He could not close his eyes, and before him the rainbow shifted  
and cleared, drifting away in ribbons, and he was walking under  
the sun, the rays not burning him. He looked up at the sky, the  
pale blue expanse of bliss, alive and not dead. He looked down  
at the ground, green grass the deep color of emeralds, soft,  
lush, and impossibly beautiful.  
  
He heard a voice, familiar, calling his name.  
  
'Spike! Spike, come here, I have something to show you.'  
  
He looked up, to the dome of a hill, to see a slim woman, her  
blonde hair flying in the breeze, turn and disappear beyond the  
rise. He ran up the hill, the effort causing his breath to come  
in short gusts. He reached the top, and looked for the woman.  
She was nowhere to be seen and as he collected his breath, bent  
forward, hand on his knees, he saw a blur out of the corner of  
his eye.  
  
The ground was cold to his skin, as he looked into the hazel eyes  
of his tackler.  
  
'Got ya, Spike,' she said.  
  
He answered, 'That you do, Buffy.'  
  
She kissed him, a sloppy, loving, bumping noses kiss. Her  
giggles burst like bubbles against his lips, her hair a soft  
curtain around his face. He reflexively tightened his arms  
around her waist, gently rolling her onto her back.  
  
She smiled up at him and asked, 'Happy?'  
  
He said, 'Course I am, I'm alive, you're alive, why shouldn't I  
be?'  
  
'So am I.'  
  
He kissed her, not sloppily at all. Their lips fused together,  
eyes closed, lost in the moment. The rainbow colors behind his  
eyelids grew brighter, and when he opened his eyes, he was  
looking into a jewel, once again normal. He dropped the sword,  
and the clatter rang in his ears, sharp and crude, echoing.---  
  
He awoke, the darkness hard on his senses, alert to a danger that  
wasn't really there at all.  
  
His voice fell, darker than the night, into the silence.  
  
"What the blue blaze was that?"  
  
*  
  
---Her cry of agony split the night, and the echoes of it lasted  
long after she had fallen on the body of her love, cradling his  
corpse in her arms, his blood soaking her clothes. Despite the  
grief that twisted her face and wet her cheeks, she was  
beautiful, her wavy brown hair bound in intricate braids.  
  
A hand touched her shoulder, and her tear-streaked face looked up  
into the sad face of a man, touches of grey at his temples, kind  
brown eyes, crinkles at the corners. He wore the same look of  
grief, tempered with acceptance.  
  
'My lady, he is gone,' he said.  
  
'I will bring him back,' she said, her face determined.  
  
'You mustn't.'  
  
'It is my choice.'  
  
She stood, gently laying her beloved's body on the ground.  
  
The man stood by, watching her.  
  
'Protect and shelter us, O Lord, and grant me the strength to do  
this,' she whispered. She grasped the hilt of the sword at her  
side, pulling it from its sheath. She raised it above her head,  
the point down, and quickly brought it down to pierce the heart  
of the dead man.  
  
A shaft of white light burst from the black opal in the hilt and  
spread around the standing woman and the prone man, then  
exploded into glaring brightness. In a second it was gone as   
quickly as it had appeared. She pulled the sword out, and bent   
down, laying it beside the man.  
  
She said, 'Live. Please live.'  
  
The man's chest expanded and he opened his eyes.  
  
They were as blue as the sky.  
  
They widened, and in a heartbeat they were gone, burst into dust.  
  
A terrified scream cut through the air.  
  
'Spike!'---  
  
And Buffy awoke, her heart thumping in her ears, her lips still  
shaping his name.  
  
*  
  
---'Rupert, where are you taking me?'  
  
'It's a surprise, Patricia, relax. And stop fiddling with your   
blindfold!'  
  
Her hands fell from the white handkerchief covering her eyes.  
  
'Sorry.'  
  
He looked over at her, a grin on his face.  
  
'You're beautiful, you know that, Patricia?'  
  
'Stop flattering me, Rupert, and drive. The sooner we get to  
where you're taking me, the sooner I can get this blindfold off.  
Besides,' and she smiled naughtily, 'I can think of better ways  
to use this thing.'  
  
'Later.' He turned his attention back to the road, focused on  
the destination.  
  
He stole glances at her, admiring the long line of her white  
neck, and the way her copper hair fell in curls against it. She  
was beautiful, no doubt about it, in a way that ran deeper than  
surface looks. She was smart, motivated and an equal match for  
him in every argument they'd ever had.   
  
He took a turn and came to a gentle stop. He put the car in  
park.  
  
She said, 'Are we here?'  
  
'Yes, we are here, my dear.'  
  
He got out of the car and came around to her side, opening the  
door for her. She swung her legs out and held out her hand. He  
took it and she stood up, out of the car.  
  
'Can I take this off now?'  
  
'Yes.'  
  
She pushed it off her eyes, pulling the cloth off her head. They  
were at the top of a hill, clover at their feet, a valley rolling  
below them.  
  
Her mouth dropped open. 'It's beautiful, Rupert. Where are we?'  
  
He said, 'You're standing on a Celtic burial ground. It's your  
new research site.'  
  
She laughed, the sound delightful and girlish.  
  
'You pulled some strings for me, didn't you, Rupert?'  
  
'I just wanted you to have what you wanted.'  
  
She placed a hand on his chest and looked into his eyes.  
  
'Thank you, Rupert.'  
  
He brought his hand up to hold hers. He kissed her lips, a quick  
soft pressure.  
  
'My pleasure, Patricia.'---  
  
Giles opened his eyes.  
  
*  
  
Part Two--Archeologist  
  
"Patricia, come look at this."  
  
The thin woman, her hair in a French braid, stood up from her  
crouch. She looked up at the late afternoon sun, and then looked  
down again.  
  
She muttered under her breath, "Stupid, Patricia, stupid." She  
shook her head and waited for the spots to clear.  
  
"Patricia!", the voice came more insistently.  
  
"Coming, Edward, give me just a moment."  
  
She walked across the rough, overturned ground, past the pits  
marked off by twine strung around wooden poles. She reached the  
source of the voice, a twenty-six year old man. The sun had  
streaked his brown hair blond.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
He pointed with the soft brush in his hand to the ground.  
  
"Look."  
  
"Oh my--is that what I think it is?"  
  
"Looks like you found what you were looking for, ma'am."  
  
Her green eyes seemed to glow with wonder.  
  
"And it's completely intact?"  
  
"Completely." He smiled at her, the grin illuminating his  
somewhat plain face.  
  
She clapped him on the shoulder, returning his grin, and stood  
up.  
  
He stood with her.  
  
"Wonderful, Edward. Tag it and lock it up."  
  
"Will do."  
  
She walked away, occasionally stopping to confer with others  
working.  
  
Edward looked back down at the ground, where the dim glimmering  
of metal shone through the dust of many years.  
  
"Amazing," he muttered.  
  
*  
  
---She was chewing on a piece of licorice, black licorice, the  
kind he especially despised, yet she adored.  
  
"Are you going to finish that, dearest, or do I have to watch you  
gnaw on it like a carrot?"  
  
She grinned around the limp stick.  
  
"Why, do you want a piece?"  
  
"Oh, come on, Patricia. Just finish it, so we can go."  
  
She took the licorice out of her mouth and clucked her tongue at  
him. "So impatient, Rupert. There's plenty of time before the  
lecture starts, and I intend to enjoy the sunshine meanwhile.  
Don't be such a fud--"  
  
He covered her mouth with his hand.  
  
"Don't you dare say it."  
  
She licked his hand and he snatched it away quickly.  
  
"Oh, that was a juvenile trick, not to mention disgusting."  
  
She tossed her head.  
  
"You asked for it."---  
  
"Giles, hey, Buffy to Watcher, come in."  
  
He covered her hand, which she'd been waving in front of his  
face, with his own, stopping its motion.  
  
"Sorry, Buffy, just wool-gathering."  
  
Her eyebrows twitched in puzzlement but she let it go and said,  
"Anya has someone on the phone for you."  
  
"Oh, thank you."  
  
He pushed his chair back from the round table, stood up, and went  
to the phone behind the counter.  
  
"Hello, Giles speaking."  
  
"Well, hello to you too. My ears are prickling, were you  
thinking about me?"  
  
Even through the phone, her voice was like velvet sand, soft and  
raspy, and completely recognizable, after many years of never  
hearing it.  
  
"Patricia."  
  
"I found it, Rupert. I found the sword, and you will not believe  
how beautiful it is."  
  
"You're not serious, are you?"  
  
"Of course I'm serious. I'm bringing it to show you, as soon as  
I can get away from the dig site. I've missed you so much, and  
it's so good to hear your voice."  
  
He stammered, "L-likewise. You're-you're coming here, to  
Sunnydale?"  
  
"Yes. I'll see you shortly."  
  
"Wait. Where are you?"  
  
"Greece, Rupert. I'll see you soon. Goodbye."  
  
"Goodbye."  
  
The connection clicked and switched over to the dial tone and he  
just stared at the phone. He said, under his breath, "Just a  
coincidence, right?"  
  
He looked up to see both Buffy and Anya staring at him. He  
laughed nervously, placing the phone back on the hook.  
  
"Old girlfriend," he said.  
  
Anya turned back to the cash register, satisfied with the answer.  
  
Buffy placed the book she'd had in her arms on the circular table  
and asked, "What's her name?"  
  
Giles walked closer to the table, stopping in front of a chair.  
"Um, Patricia, Patricia Thennis."  
  
"You met in England." Buffy sat down and placed her elbows on  
the table and rested her chin in her hands, her eyes expressing  
extreme interest.  
  
He took his glasses off and started polishing them.  
  
"Yes, as a matter of fact. We studied together. It's been  
nearly a decade since I saw her last."  
  
"So why'd she call?"  
  
"She's coming here. She has, she's found the Pythian Blade and  
wanted me to see it. She's s-searched for it her entire life."  
  
"A sword?"  
  
"Oh, it's more than a sword, Buffy. It's one of the few truly  
magical objects in legend and, incredibly, capable of--"  
  
"Raising the dead." Her voice had taken on a grim quality and  
Giles looked at her, startled by the comment.  
  
"Yes, exactly. How did you know that?"  
  
"I had a dream, Giles."  
  
*  
  
Part Three--Thief  
  
"You know every move she makes, thanks to me." It was a soft  
feminine voice, yet it had an edge of malice.  
  
The woman stepped closer to the man, whose dark hair flopped over  
his forehead, giving him a decidedly rakish air.  
  
"Yes," he voice tender, "thanks to you." He tugged on her wrist  
with his hand, pulling her closer. She continued to look him in  
the eyes, her own blue irises calm and full of love.  
  
He released her hand, and brought his hand up to caress her  
cheek. They were so close, she could see her reflection in his black  
eyes.  
  
He said, "Ah, Cassandra, you certainly live up to your name.  
Tell me, what do you see?"  
  
She closed her eyes.  
  
"I see a man, tall, British, glasses. A girl, with honey hair,  
oh, she's strong that one. The Slayer. And one of your kin,  
someone we both know well."  
  
"Do you see the sword?"  
  
"Yes. It's in her hands. She's showing it to the tall man and  
the girl. I know where we need to go."  
  
"Where?"  
  
She opened her blue eyes, to see him looking at her intently.  
She tilted her head, her sleek bob of black hair barely brushing  
her shoulder. Her red lips curved in a gently wicked smile.  
  
"Sunnydale, California."  
  
*  
  
"This is incredible, Patricia."  
  
Her delight at his wonderment had her grinning widely. She  
tapped the sword with her finger.  
  
"This is what you said I would never find."  
  
"What would you like me to say, Patricia, that I was wrong?"  
  
"Wouldn't hurt."  
  
Buffy stifled a chuckle behind her hand and a cough. It wasn't  
enough to keep Giles from shooting her a very Watcherly glare.  
  
Patricia continued, "I wonder if you can keep it safe here."  
  
"Of course. We have a safe where we keep our more valuable  
pieces of merchandise. We'll put it there."  
  
"Wonderful, Rupert. Thank you so much."  
  
"My pleasure, Patricia."  
  
Buffy was amused to see him blush. She watched as they looked at  
each other, both so deeply involved, the door chime didn't even  
bother them. It wasn't until Xander's cheery voice rang loudly  
through the shop did they look away.  
  
"Hey guys, what's up?"  
  
Buffy answered, as Giles cleared his throat, uncomfortable.  
Patricia looked down, a small smile on her face.  
  
"We have a sword we're babysitting."  
  
"Ooh, weapons. What's with this one?"  
  
Patricia said, "Excalibur, ring a bell?"  
  
"In the stone, Excalibur?"  
  
Anya approached the small group, stopping at Xander's side, and  
laced her arm through his own.  
  
"Of course, sweetie. There are plenty of myths that have their  
basis in reality."  
  
He looked down at her face and she smiled up at him.  
  
Patricia said, "I found one and so I need to keep it safe. Giles  
has offered to keep it here and," she tilted her head up to look  
at Giles, "put me up for the night?"  
  
He smiled at her.  
  
"Of course."  
  
*  
  
The bell of the Magic Box rang wildly as the door slammed open,   
breaking from its hinges. Outside, the light from streetlamps   
glittered against wet pavement. Two figures, one male, the   
other female, their silhouettes dark in the doorframe, entered.  
  
"Where is it, Cassandra?"  
  
She walked forward, into the center of the shop and stopped. She  
pointed to the back.  
  
"It's through there."  
  
He walked past her, gathering her hand into his in passing. She  
followed after him, walking into the training room.  
  
She held her hand in front of her and said, "Phos."  
  
A small ball of light appeared in her palm, illuminating the room  
and their faces, casting her triangle shaped features into sharp  
relief and glinting through her blue eyes, giving them the  
appearance of blue fire.  
  
She said, "The safe is in the wall, behind the weapons there."  
  
"Do it."  
  
She said, "Schizo!" She thrust her hands out and the ball grew  
brighter and larger, flying into the wall and destroying it  
completely. The brick and mortar burned away, and the metal door  
of the safe exploded.  
  
The man reached into the safe, bringing out a long black case,  
similar to that of a flute's. He opened it, and took out the  
sword, admiring it briefly, before putting it back in its case.  
  
He tucked it under his arm and said, "Come on, Cassandra, let's  
go."  
  
They made their way back through the store and stepped out into  
the night.  
  
*  
  
Part Four--Kin  
  
The cigarette's red glowing end seemed to drift in the air. The   
man in the shadows watched the pair leave the shop. Taking one   
last drag he then dropped the butt, crushing the flare out with the   
heel of his boot.  
  
He walked after them, a sleek shadow in the street. His long  
coat heavily moved, disturbed by his graceful strides, which grew  
increasingly longer and faster, until his hand fell on the  
shoulder of the man.  
  
The pair turned to face him, and in the glare of the  
streetlights, their faces were calm.  
  
"Hello, Spike," the man said, his face shifting into fangs and  
golden eyes.  
  
He stared at them both, shock on his face.  
  
"Christophe."  
  
"Yes, it's me. It's been a long time since we met last, Sire."  
He spat the last word as if its taste were bitter.  
  
The bleached blond jutted his jaw out, recovering quickly from  
the jolt of encountering his childe. "You were a mistake,  
Christophe."  
  
"That's not what you told me when you turned me. But you've got  
a conscience now, haven't you? Side effect, right?"  
  
"What are you doing here, Christophe?"  
  
"I'm here to destroy you. We'll call it a mercy killing." His  
eyes were cold, and his voice was just as chilling.  
  
"Just try."  
  
With all the speed and strength inherent to his demon, Spike  
swung his fist, straight toward his former childe's head.  
  
He quickly dodged, dropping the black case he held, and countered  
with a hit to his sire's chest that drove him back several steps.  
  
"Still leading with your left, eh, William?"  
  
With a snarl, Spike drove forward into Christophe's chest,  
pushing him past Cassandra, who stepped aside. She watched as  
Christophe took a few punches, which barely fazed him.  
  
He countered with a right backhand that cut across Spike's face,  
splitting the skin of his cheekbone.  
  
Spike struck him in the nose and the crunch and trickle of blood  
proved he'd broken it.  
  
"Blood for blood, Christophe," he said. He stood on the balls of  
his feet, ready for the next move.  
  
Christophe touched his lip and briefly examined the red smear on  
his fingertips.  
  
"Already made that exchange, Sire," he said quietly. He looked  
down, and when he looked up again, his features had changed from  
the demon to the human.  
  
"That's enough, Spike," he said and then called, "Cassandra!"  
  
Spike swung around to look at her, and the last thing he saw was  
a ball of light coming toward him.  
  
*  
  
Part Five--Bane  
  
Anya stepped over the rubble on the ground, carefully avoiding  
the broken glass. Xander and Willow were right behind her. They  
walked into the middle of the store and surveyed the damage.  
  
"Why would someone do this?" Anya moaned.  
  
Xander placed a hand on her shoulder.  
  
"It's called breaking and entering, Anya, and usually they're  
after something."  
  
She stared at him in horror, and then turned and ran into the  
back room, leaving Xander and Willow blinking in dismay.  
  
A wail came from the training room, followed by, "The sword is  
gone!"  
  
The redhead and the young man rushed into the room, to see the  
wall demolished and the safe empty. Anya stood in the middle,  
twisting her hands in despair.  
  
She looked at them, fear in her eyes.  
  
"Giles is going to kill me!"  
  
Xander immediately went to her, putting his arms around her.  
  
He tried to comfort her, saying, "I'm sure he won't. It's just  
one of those things. Willow?"  
  
She offered, "Yeah, it's not like you could have known this would  
happen."  
  
Anya said, "He trusted me to take care of this place and now what  
am I going to tell him?"  
  
Willow said, "Calm down, Anya. I'll go call him and Buffy. I'll  
tell him what's happened."  
  
Anya looked extremely relieved.  
  
Willow made her calls and several hours later, after Patricia had  
left with the police to file the stolen items report, the friends  
sat around the table. They were all silent, until Willow spoke.  
  
"Whatcha thinkin', Buffy?" She asked.  
  
"I'm thinking we need an alarm system--" An affirmative hum came  
from the group. Buffy continued, "and we have a new bad to  
fight."  
  
She stood up.  
  
Xander asked, "Where are you going?"  
  
"To find out who's in town."  
  
*  
  
The door to Spike's crypt slowly creaked open. Buffy stood in the  
doorway, her hand still resting on the door. She took a cursory  
glance around.  
  
She yelled, "Spike!"  
  
No answer.  
  
She looked around, puzzled. She stalked over to the entrance to  
the sublevel, and dropped down through it, not even bothering  
with the stairs.  
  
"Where are you?"  
  
The air was still, and a chill crept up her spine. She turned  
around rapidly, her stake in her hand, but there was no one  
behind her.  
  
This time when she spoke her voice was tentative, "Spike?"  
  
"Christophe took him."  
  
Buffy whirled around again, to see a woman, dressed in black.  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
"Cassandra. You're the vampire slayer, friend to William the  
Bloody."  
  
"We're not friends."  
  
"Maybe so, but it might interest you to know that Christophe has  
the Pythian Blade, and Spike."  
  
"Where? Why?"  
  
"You know where, as for why--find out."  
  
Buffy blinked and the woman was gone.  
  
*  
  
"I'm telling you she just vanished, disappeared into thin air,  
like she stepped behind a barrier that made her invisible."  
Frustrated, Buffy paced back in forth in front of the table.  
  
"Fine, Buffy, we get it. Why are you so hyped up about this  
anyway? It's not like you miss His Badness, right?"  
  
She stopped long enough to give Xander a glare, then continued  
pacing. Xander watched her for a moment, then looked at Willow,  
who sat beside him. She gave him a worried look.  
  
"I do not miss him. It's the sword, there's no telling what this  
Cassandra and Christophe are doing with it. You don't understand  
what this weapon is capable of!"  
  
He held up his hands, "Okay, calm down."  
  
She resumed pacing, and then yelled, "Giles!"  
  
"Right here," came his voice from directly behind her, and she  
turned, stopping abruptly to avoid bumping into him.  
  
"Sorry, Giles."  
  
"Quite all right." He held up a leather bound book.  
  
He said, "The Watchers' journals mention a Christophe.  
Apparently he is a vampire, quite powerful, and amazingly,  
Spike's childe."  
  
Willow blurted, "His childe? D-daddy Spike?" She looked a  
little horrified by the idea, Xander likewise. Buffy simply  
continued pacing.  
  
"He was turned in 1930, when Spike was fifty. Christophe is  
every bit as deadly as Spike, before the chip, and like his sire,  
he hunts slayers. Definitely like father, like son."  
  
Buffy said, "Why haven't we heard of him? If he's just like  
Spike, then why hasn't he come after me?"  
  
"The journal mentions that he and Spike had a falling out. He  
left the country, lay low--in fact, the reports of his doings  
grow extremely thin. There is this notation, that a female human  
was reported missing about the time of his and Spike's split."  
  
Buffy said, "Cassandra."  
  
"Apparently, yes."  
  
Willow volunteered, "You know, Buffy, the way you described her  
disappearing, I think she might be a witch, and pretty well  
advanced, too."  
  
Buffy abruptly stopped her pacing.  
  
"What's the matter, Buffy?" Willow asked, concerned.  
  
Buffy swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry.  
  
"When I was in Spike's crypt, I sensed her before she appeared,  
but it wasn't the way it is when I sense a vampire. She's still  
human, guys, but she hasn't aged."  
  
"Definitely a witch." Willow affirmed.  
  
Xander said, "Well, that's gotta be a twisted relationship, a  
vampire and a witch."  
  
"Yes, Xander, it's a wonderful pair, and just dandy for them, but  
they have Spike and the sword and we have no idea where they  
are." Buffy sat down in a chair and rested her head on the  
table, lacing her hands through her hair.  
  
"Buffy, did Cassandra say why they had the sword?" Giles asked.  
  
Her head popped up.  
  
"No! We need to find out why they have it and what they're going  
to do with it. Giles, your friend Patricia, she knows about this  
thing, right?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Will you please?"  
  
He didn't answer, just headed toward the phone.  
  
*  
  
Patricia sat down at the table. She faced a row of eyes, set in  
inquisitive faces, and felt just a little intimidated by the  
intensity of their attention.  
  
"So what do you want to know?"  
  
Buffy said, "Anything, legends, stories, rumors. Just tell us  
about it."  
  
"Well, you, you know it's rumored to be the sword of Arthur,  
Excalibur, but I'm not even sure if I believe that. It's the   
stories about it before that time that obsessed me, tempted me.   
There was enough historical evidence to substantiate the   
existence of the sword, so I started to search for it. I   
traced its origin back to Greece, where I found many stories   
about it. Some of them just...wild."  
  
"Tell us about those."  
  
"There's one that says it can resurrect the dead. It made its  
way to Italy, during the Renaissance. There was a girl, her name  
was Betta. She, if you believe what you hear, killed vampires."  
The group didn't react, and she continued, "She was in love with  
a man, Antonio. He was killed, supposedly, by a vampire. She  
brought him back, with the sword. They married, and both died  
shortly thereafter, how is not said."  
  
She smiled. "There are stories like that all over the place.  
Some of the legends say that its destiny is to be in the hands  
of, what did they call it, the...Vampire Slayer, but that it's  
also deadly to her. It's been called the Slayer's Bane. If it  
sheds just one drop of her blood, she's dead."  
  
She paused, assessing their reactions. A look of doubt settled  
on her face.  
  
"You aren't _believing_ what I'm saying, are you?"  
  
Buffy asked, "Is that all?"  
  
"No. The opal in the hilt is rumored to tell a person's future.  
If you look into it, the colors will swirl away and you'll be  
shown what your destiny is. That's all."  
  
"Thank you, Ms. Thennis," Buffy said and stood up.  
  
Willow asked, "What are you going to do now, Buffy?"  
  
"I think, I've done all I can right now. I'm going to go home,  
Dawn will be back soon."  
  
The group looked concerned, and Willow said, "Sure, if you want  
to. I'll be home later, okay?"  
  
"Fine. Willow."  
  
*  
  
The girl with dark honey hair lay on her bed, trying to forget  
the last words they'd exchanged, trying to deny what she'd felt  
for him. She couldn't, no matter how hard she tried and the  
memory played endlessly.  
  
---"Spike! Don't you walk away! You wanted to talk about this,  
so let's talk."  
  
He turned, pain drawing his features tight.  
  
His voice was flat, emotionless, dead.  
  
"Nothing left to discuss, Slayer."  
  
She swallowed, hard, past the lump in her throat.  
  
"Is this it? Is this where you leave?" She held herself still,  
her body tense.  
  
He sighed.  
  
"Could be. It depends on you, though, doesn't it? Always has."  
  
"So you'd just walk away because of one kiss?"  
  
"You can't continue to deny that it meant nothing. You felt  
something, Slayer, and it wasn't hate. So tell me, what was it?"  
  
"I-I don't know."  
  
He dropped his head down, closing his eyes. He shook his head  
and looked up at her again, the pain transmuted to resignation.  
  
"If you don't know, then that's it. I've paid my dues, kept your  
sister safe. You don't need me anymore."  
  
Her voice trembled, "What-what if I do?"  
  
He stepped closer to her, trying to see more than what her eyes  
were telling him. Trying to see if what she was saying was true,  
but what he saw wasn't enough.  
  
He asked, "Do you trust me?"  
  
She looked at him, but said nothing.  
  
"Didn't think so."  
  
He walked away, leaving her to stare at his retreating back.---  
  
Buffy curled in on herself, tears leaving shining tracks down her  
face. She wept, silently. Eventually, exhausted, she fell  
asleep.  
  
In her dreaming...  
  
---She walked to the house, through the garden, past the  
statuary, the wall fountain. The house was empty now of its  
occupant, but not of the memories created there.  
  
She thought to herself, 'I thought I buried this a long time  
ago.' The memories in her mind were like shadows creeping in.  
  
He had left her, and she had let him go.---  
  
A door slammed and she woke up, sitting up straight. Her heart  
beat in rapid flutters, loudly. She breathed deeply, calming her  
pulse and called, "Is that you, Dawn?"  
  
Her sister's voice came, muffled through the door, but getting  
closer, "Yeah. Hey, Buffy, where's the peanut butter?"  
  
She opened Buffy's door on the last word.  
  
Buffy swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. She  
checked her reflection in the bureau mirror. She said, as she  
was tucking stray strands of hair into place, "I think I put it  
in the refrigerator."  
  
"Why? Who puts peanut butter in the fridge? Buffy?"  
  
Buffy ignored her, going past her out of the room. Dawn followed  
her and stood at the head of the stairs as Buffy started down.  
  
Dawn called after her, "Where are you going, Buffy?" Her sister's   
voice came back, "Don't wait up, Dawn. I'll be back soon."  
  
The slam of the house door caused the pictures on the wall of the  
stairs to bang against the wall.  
  
Dawn looked down the stairs, a worried expression on her face.  
  
*  
  
Part Six--End  
  
"Wake up, William."  
  
Cassandra held a cup under his nose and Spike's eyes drifted  
open.  
  
"There you are."  
  
He opened his eyes fully, and backed away from her, sidling  
against the wall. He tested the chains holding him. Some give,  
but it would take time to get them loose.  
  
She still held the cup out and he could see the dark red liquid  
inside.  
  
"You'd better drink this. My magic tends to sap your energy as  
well as causing unconsciousness."  
  
He turned his face away as she thrust the cup in his face.  
  
"Drink it, it's not drugged."  
  
He sniffed it to make sure and she held it, tipped to his mouth.  
He drank it. When he was finished, he licked his lips and leaned  
back, looking around for the first time, recognizing his  
grandsire's former residence. The early evening twilight draped  
the room with shadows.  
  
"You brought me here?"  
  
"Beautiful place, isn't? I understand it holds some...wonderful  
memories for you."  
  
"Cassandra," he said with false sweetness.  
  
"Yes, William?"  
  
"I hate you, have hated you since you stole him from me."  
  
She shook her head. "He left you, William. He left you for me."  
  
"And look what you've turned into."  
  
"Birds of a feather, William. You think you can change?  
Honestly? We've known you too long and we're here to save you."  
  
"Kill me, you mean."  
  
She shrugged. "Your death is your salvation. I've seen it, it  
must happen."  
  
"Why haven't you just dusted me yet? You had your chance."  
  
"Because we need you, Spike," came Christophe's voice. He  
walked out from behind a wall. "Two birds with one stone. It's   
time for me to take my inheritance."  
  
"Hey, cheap wanna-be."  
  
Christophe turned around to see Buffy, a determined look on her  
face.  
  
She said, "Let him go."  
  
"You must be the Slayer."  
  
"And you're the chip off the old spike."  
  
He reached down to his side, pulling a sword out from the  
scabbard that hung at his side. He held it out to the light,  
which reflected off the silver surface.  
  
"Do you recognize this, Slayer?"  
  
A flicker of fear chased across her face, but it was quickly  
gone.  
  
"The Slayer's Bane," she said, her lips tight.  
  
"That's right, but I'm sure you want this to be a fair fight.  
Cassandra, get a sword for the Slayer."  
  
She reached into the air, pulled out a sword from it and  
tossed it to Buffy, who immediately crouched in battle stance.  
  
They circled each other warily, until the first tentative touch  
of the tip of his sword to hers. A few false moves and then they   
started to fight in earnest, the clanging of the swords ringing   
off the stone walls. Cassandra watched Spike, who ignored her   
gaze and watched the battle.  
  
Buffy quickly sized up her opposition, marking the same cocky  
style that she'd had opportunity to learn from Spike. Christophe  
had learned much from his sire, and picked up a few tricks that  
went beyond his sire's repertoire.  
  
She brought her sword down toward his shoulder and he quickly  
raised his to push hers away. The sword rang and quivered with  
the force of the blow, but still she held onto it, the shock of  
it going up her arm. She staggered back, and he pressed in  
closer, trying to corner her. She bent her knees and jumped  
away, flipping over him. He quickly turned and just as rapidly  
ducked to avoid the slice of her blade through the air, straight  
for his neck. She caught a bit of his hair, severing it neatly  
from the rest.  
  
He straightened up, guarding, and it was her turn to push him  
away from her, landing strikes that were fast and strong. He  
gradually fell away from her and she drove him down, until one  
awkward twist of his wrist and one flip of her's disarmed him and  
forced him to his knees.  
  
Cassandra leapt forward and raised her hand.  
  
Spike took the lack of her attention to twist his wrists in the  
iron shackles, knowing it would be his only chance.  
  
Christophe stood and said to Cassandra, his voice labored, "No,  
no magic. This is a fair fight."  
  
Buffy inclined her head and waited for him to pick up the sword  
once again. Once again, they circled, but this time it was her  
blow that started the battle again. They seemed well matched,  
but Buffy noted more errors creeping into his fight. Just one  
slip was all she needed and when he raised his sword, both hands  
on the hilt, set to cleave her head, she maneuvered the tip of  
her sword through the guard of his hilt and pulled the sword out  
of his hands. It soared over her head and clattered when it hit  
the floor.  
  
Swiftly she turned and separated his head from his shoulders, and  
all that was left was the sound of wind, blowing the dust of his  
years away.  
  
Cassandra screamed, "No!"  
  
Buffy turned to see her raise her hand and heard the scrape of  
metal against stone and then a slick whoosh of air. She watched,  
frozen, as the Slayer's Bane flew toward her.  
  
There was a sickening crack as Spike broke his wrists from the  
bands holding him. Buffy blinked and when she opened her eyes,  
she was no longer looking at the sword. Instead all she saw was  
the black leather back of the blond vampire and the tip of the  
sword protruding from it.  
  
Everything slowed to the seconds of heartbeats and she helplessly   
watched as he fell. A bright flash of light blossomed and seared  
her eyes and she closed them involuntarily.  
  
Cassandra's voice spoke in wonder, "So this is how it ends."  
  
Buffy opened her eyes.  
  
Spike still lay on the cold stone floor, sword buried in his  
chest, his eyes closed. Cassandra was bent over him, her eyes   
cold. She looked up at Buffy and said, "It will never work," and  
vanished.  
  
*  
  
Epilogue  
  
"Come on, you bloody vampire, open your eyes."  
  
Buffy's voice was desperate, tear-heavy, and she hesitantly  
grasped the hilt of the sword, preparing to pull it out.  
  
"I will not let you go, come on, are you going to let just one  
little chest wound lay you down?"  
  
No response and she started to panic, her trembling hands still  
holding the sword. Her tears fell and she said, "You're not  
dead, you can't be dead, so wake up, please?"  
  
She pulled the sword out and laid it beside him. She dropped to  
her knees and placed her shaking hands on each side of his face.  
  
"Hey, William, I know you're in there. I have a lot of things to  
say to you and I want you conscious while I say them." She  
caressed his face with her thumbs, worry creasing her face.  
  
A breath filled his lungs and he slowly opened his eyes.  
  
"Buffy?"  
  
Her face lightened with hope. She asked, "How do you feel?"  
  
He blinked, several times, and said, "Why is my heart beating?"  
  
End. 


End file.
